Gone in Seconds
Page 29
“So why did you help Kaitlyn?”
“A few months later, I’d been talking to my therapist about that night, when I tried a power play against Jen. I felt so bad about it, about it all, so I was going to come clean. So one night, Landon and Jennifer were out, just Kaitlyn in. She was their surrogate and she was pregnant with Landon’s kid. I listened to her complain about her life, about how this was her only hope. If I told Landon and Jennifer the truth, then she’d lose her money. She’s a good person, just wanted to help them. But she was finding it difficult bearing a kid that wasn’t hers.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you expect? We fell in love? One day, I bumped into her in a Starbucks. Got her cell number, but that was it. I never called her.”
“A paternity test will identify the father. You or your brother.”
“And if Ky’s mine?”
“Then it’ll be congratulations, it’s a boy. But you committed fraud. And if not, you still tried. I suspect your lawyer’s already planning on how to get you off with helping her, saying you persuaded Kaitlyn to return the child, helped bring him back, blah blah blah. Just being a hero.”
Chase sat there, staring at the baby. “Have you done the test?”
Carter walked over and took the seat opposite, resting Ky on his knee. “I believe you know what happened to Marcus Edwards.”
“What?”
“We found his body at an address in east Seattle.”
The clock on the wall ticked.
“I gather you know who did that to him?”
“Boris Zangiev.”
“Ah yes. You threw us a bone marked with his name.”
Chase stared at the baby. “I told you the truth. I thought it was Marie Edwards on there.”
“No, you didn’t. This was your attempt at helping Kaitlyn. If he had Ky, then you wanted Layla to find him.”
“But Layla found Marie homing in on Kaitlyn. Zangiev has better intel than you.”
“Not quite. He’s got the same intel. Someone in SPD was leaking to him. We’ll probably never find them.” Carter nodded at Chase. “You know, when Zangiev came out here, we thought he was a low-level enforcer. Only just learned a few days ago that he’s fairly senior in the Russian mafia. Also, Boris Zangiev is an assumed identity. Andriy Akinfiev is his real name. He’s a wanted man by our RICO operation based out of the New York City Field Office. They’ve been running an investigation into him for a while now, but he slipped off their radar. And it also appears that you received a few million dollars from him.”
“Our founda—”
“You personally, Chase.”
“That money was aboveboard. He ran a VC firm who—”
“It was laundered.”
“I had no idea!”
“Really?”
“Of course! I was desperate. All the other firms passed on us. What else could I do?”
“Then I find out you signed a transaction to move all your foundation’s money to an offshore account. You signed paperwork to lift the transaction limits so you could transfer the money, which is technically wire fraud.”
“This is ridiculous. He coerced me!”
“If you can prove extortion, it might be deemed extenuating circumstances, but again that’s not for me to decide.”
Chase leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his neck. “What happened to the money?”
“Your bank blocked the transaction. Your cancer center will stay open. But you’ve got a lot of questions to answer about your ties to him. One way I could spin this tale is you helped him to get a cut of that cash yourself.
“What?”
“But you’ve got a shit-hot lawyer, right?”
“Have you done a paternity test, or not?”
Carter leaned forward. “You know that your foundation rehomed Layla’s son, right?”
Chase rubbed his forehead. The clock ticked. “What?”
“Her son was treated as an orphan and rehomed by your foundation.”
Chase slammed a fist on the table. “Landon!”
“Your office in Tacoma gave us the records pertaining to Faraj al-Yasin. He’s been rehomed. As you know, Layla’s a fugitive from justice. But no longer. She’s now in custody.”
“Jesus.” Chase stared at the clock. “Is Kaitlyn okay?”
Seventy
KAITLYN
09:28
The machines buzz around me and it’s all I can focus on. The drugs are numbing the pain in my stomach down to someone screaming at me, down from roasting me alive on a spit right through my spine.
But it’s nothing compared to the emptiness I feel. The text message from Mom saying I’m not welcome at Duke’s funeral.
A text.
She blames me for what happened, for shortening his last month to one day, just to fail in saving me.
I don’t blame her.
There’s a knock on the door and an FBI agent stands there. Elisha something. “Got someone to see you, Kaitlyn.” She steps aside.
And Jennifer Bartlett walks in.
What the hell?
Jennifer doesn’t say anything. Instead, she pulls up a chair and sits there, arms folded.
I could argue and argue, but I took her baby. After I’d lied to her about it. After I’d lied to everyone. I shift in the bed and a spear of pain runs through me.
“Why did you do it?”
“Because I needed to be with my son.”
“You signed the paperwork, Kaitlyn. Ky is our baby. Our son. Not yours.”
“I carried him. I gave birth to him. You can’t understand what it feels like to lose him.”
“You can’t say that to me. I’ve lost two kids. They’re both dead.” Her cheeks are damp. “My first son died in a car accident. Todd. I was pregnant again at the time, and I lost her too. And I couldn’t have another child. That’s why we paid you all that money. You’d get yourself an education out of it, we’d get a family. Instead, I’ve lost my husband. What you did, it’s cost me my son and my husband.”
I can’t look at her anymore.
“Kaitlyn… Ky is my son. Mine and Landon’s.”
“Have you run the test?”
“What?”
“The paternity test. Have you run it?”
Jennifer shakes her head at me.
I lean forward and pain flares up my torso. “I thought I could give him up, but I couldn’t. The only time in the last year when I felt okay is when I held Ky after giving birth to him.”
“That shouldn’t have happened!”
“They’d torn my guts open, and I persuaded the nurse to let me just hold him in my arms for a minute. I felt so warm, so complete. Then they took him away and… It wasn’t postpartum depression. It was losing my son. The loss you felt. Maybe worse, because Ky was out there, alive, living a life without me. Then I broke into your house and I saw him, lying in the crib. And I felt okay again. I felt alright. And I knew I couldn’t be apart from him again. I had no choice. I couldn’t leave him with you. I needed to raise him. Me. Not you, not your nanny. Do you understand?”
“Kaitlyn, when I was your age, I was like you. A student, struggling for money. Saddled with debts. I understand. But what you’ve done isn’t right.”
“Well I’m like you.” The pain wells up in me again, that tingling numbness that becomes a hacksaw to my navel. “The doctor said I can’t have children.”
Her mouth opens wide.
I point down at my wounds. “The gunshot. It’s… I’m… I can’t…”
She doesn’t have any more words for me.
Another knock on the door. Carter, whispering in Elisha’s ear. “Mrs. Bartlett, I need a word.”
Jennifer gives me one last look, then joins him in the corridor.
“What’s going on?”
Elisha takes Jennifer’s seat. “He needs to discuss the timeline to release Landon’s body.”
“He’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Look, I don’t w
ant Chase to suffer for this. He’s a good man and he tried to do the right thing.”
“Way above my pay grade.”
“I understand. Can I see Ky?”
“Now that is impossible.” Elisha gets up. “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes.”
I’m so stupid. I should’ve told the truth. Gone to Chase. Gotten his lawyers involved.
“Hey.” The door opens again and Chase stands there. “Kaitlyn.” He passes me a sheet of paper. “They’ve done the test. Ky is my son.”
I slump back in the bed. “Will you get custody?”
“It’s going to mean a lot of legal wrangling between me and my ex-wife. It’s a mighty complex situation. And I’ve got… Well, I committed some crimes, didn’t I? They’ve bailed me, but I’ll have my day in court. Before you, but… If I get custody, I don’t know what I’m going to do with a baby.”
“You’ll cope.”
“I’m running a cancer center and a foundation on my own. And it turns out my brother was up to no end of shady stuff there and…”
“Sorry about your brother…”
“I know.”
There’s nothing more to say. Except… “Chase, I’m going to spend a long-ass time in prison. Twenty-plus years. Will you make sure Ky is raised well for me?”
“No matter how hard it is.”
Epilogue
CARTER
09:59
Carter still stared out of the window. He’d lost track of time. Must’ve been hours he’d been looking out there.
A helicopter shot past, low across the city streets.
9:59.
Time to move.
He sat at his desk and punched in the video-call number, putting on his headset as he waited for the channel to secure itself. Then he was in a holding area, staring at his own face on the screen. God, did he look old.
A face replaced his, captioned as DCI Chris King. Looked nothing like he sounded. Wiry dark hair, but balding. Thin, gray, and long-faced, his cleft chin looking like a serious mining operation was going on in there. Could’ve been thirty-five, could’ve been fifty. “Hello.” His accent sounded different on this call, not so similar to Bill’s. Deeper, maybe. “We’re recording this, okay?”
“Fine. You can call me Max, if you want.”
“Let’s keep this formal.”
“Okay. What’s going on?”
“I should ask you that, Mr. Carter.” King folded his arms. “You’ve been snooping on me. Asking questions.”
Lori hadn’t been too subtle, then. “If you were in my situation, you telling me you wouldn’t?”
“True enough. But I gather your father isn’t well?”
“Bill has cancer.”
“Terminal?”
“No, but it’s not like he’s in remission.”
“Mr. Carter, let’s get down to brass tacks here. As you’ve ascertained, I am in charge of Operation Pool Hall. Not my choice of name. Some months ago, a man died in East London. I can’t give you his name for operational reasons, but he was an enforcer for an outfit in the East End of London. You may know it or not, but it’s an impoverished area. Now, this man was a hitman, had been inside for only one murder. After his death, we found a lock-up containing a horde of evidence and we’ve only recently completed going through this.” He stopped.
Carter hated being snared by his own tricks. Maybe transatlantic policing wasn’t so different. “Go on.”
“Back in 1987, Bill Carter paid someone to have your mother killed.”
Carter took a slow halting breath. Tried to stay calm, but his pulse was thudding in his neck. Felt like drums beating in his ears. “My mom died in a car crash.”
“And that’s correct. But this hitman made her death appear to be an accident.”
Carter rubbed his temples, trying to match what he was hearing with what he knew. Isolate the emotion, stick it in a box, stay focused. “She was on so many pills, she lost control of the wheel, crashed. How does that not look like an accident?”
“Mr. Carter, this hitman kept a journal, a murder diary if you will. He’d gained access to your mother’s home and replaced her medication with a far stronger dose, cut with Rohypnol. Then, as the drugs kicked in, he called her to warn her that you, her son, were back in the country. She rushed off and, well.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I know. Your government has been excellent in assisting us. The only consolation I can offer is that your mother wouldn’t have been aware of what happened.”
Carter’s stomach was doing cartwheels. He had no idea what to think. “And you believe this journal?”
“Enough to reopen this case and undertake an inquest. The blood toxicology at the time was consistent with an overdose, indicating a suicide attempt. Armed with this new information? Well. And we have obtained some additional artifacts. There’s a ledger with all of his payments, which tie back to a number of bank accounts. This hitman was forensic at covering himself. And he had a collection of stored answerphone tapes.”
Carter leaned forward. “Bill called him?”
“We have verified it against records of phone calls your father made internationally from his mobile phone. He asks if ‘it was done.’”
“So why are you calling me?”
“Because we could prosecute your father. I’m a Detective Chief Inspector in the Met, running what you’d call a homicide squad. I could get a conviction, easily. I have a smoking gun, after all. The brass here love that kind of case. Looks good.”
“So why haven’t you?”
“Because I wanted to speak to you first. I have a million and one cases this geezer owned up to. Given he’s now a US citizen and one with cancer, Bill’s case could be pushed lower down the priority list. That could change, Mr. Carter, if you want it to.”
“Someone told me recently that people in Bill’s situation want to make peace with their pasts, not war.”
“Sage advice.” A slow exhalation of breath filled the line. “That’s for you to decide. I’m just offering you the chance to make peace or war.”
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Books by Ed James
Max carter series
Tell Me Lies
Gone in Seconds
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Scott Cullen series
Ghost in the Machine
Devil in the Detail
Fire in the Blood
Stab in the Dark
Cops and Robbers
Liars and Thieves
Cowboys and Indians
Heroes and Villains
City of the Dead
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Craig Hunter series
Missing
Hunted
The Black Isle
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DI Fenchurch series
The Hope That Kills
Worth Killing For
What Doesn’t Kill You
In for The Kill
Kill with Kindness
Kill the Messenger
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Tooth and Claw
Senseless
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A Letter From Ed
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I hope you enjoyed a second journey with Max Carter and his team as much as I did. They’ll be back soon.
I visited a lot of the l
ocations in this book when I made the pilgrimage to Seattle in October 2019, and absolutely adored the city and the surrounding places. The ferry to Bremerton was on a murky gray day and just like being back home in Scotland. In fact, the whole area, from southern Oregon right up to Ballard—the Seattle suburb Max calls home—is very much like lowland Scotland. Almost like I hadn’t travelled thousands of miles.
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Ed James
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February 2020
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Tell Me Lies
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FBI special agent Max Carter is on the hunt – he’ll stop at nothing to catch a kidnapper with a taste for danger and a need for revenge. Fans of Lee Child and David Baldacci will be gripped by this heart-racing thriller from bestselling author Ed James.
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